There was a pipe in Master Jock's mouth, and he was engaged at that moment in filling it with tobacco.
"Halloa! Mike my son!" said he with infinite slyness, "just you get out of that chair and light my pipe for me—d'ye hear?"
"Light it yourself!" replied Mike; "the flint and steel is close beside you."
Master Jock stared at him with all his eyes. The lad himself had clearly forgotten what day it was. All the more piquant then to startle him out of his insolent security.
"Then, my beloved little brother, are you not aware that to-day is red Whitsun Day?"
"What's that got to do with me? I am neither a parson nor an almanac-maker."
"Eh, eh! Recollect that at a quarter to four your Whitsun Kingship ceases!"
"And what then?" inquired Mike, without the slightest perturbation, polishing the antique opal buttons of his attila with his silken handkerchief.
"What then?" cried Jock, who was beginning to get warm; "why, from this instant you cease to be a gentleman."